


Mind if I join you?

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-02
Updated: 2004-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-31 05:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6456946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late S3.  Lilah comes upon Wesley in a bar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mind if I join you?

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

“Mind if I join you?” Lilah asks, though she sits down without waiting for an answer.

“On many levels, and with great intensity,” Wesley replies in a clipped and lifeless tone, not bothering to look at her. They sit for a moment in silence: Lilah looking at Wesley, Wesley looking at his glass, until he abruptly quaffs it and looks up. She opens her mouth to speak, but Wesley is only glancing around for a waiter, who he beckons over.

He orders a refill on his scotch, still ignoring Lilah. He reaches for his wallet to pay, but she beats him to it. Long, manicured fingers extend a Wolfram and Hart credit card up to the waiter, eye level to Wesley. “Two,” Lilah amends, bestowing a cold crimson smile on the waiter. He accepts the card and leaves.

Wesley gives her a look of resigned politeness before allowing the cold mask to repossess his face. “Well?”

Caught off-guard by the chill in his eyes – because it seems permanent, not conjured by her obviously unwelcome presence – she reverts to lashing out. “How the righteous have fallen,” she says sweetly. “Angel’s pet Watcher, consorting with the enemy and crawling into a bottle.”

He smiles, though it doesn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Did you hope to shatter me with your encapsulation of my life, Lilah? Would you like to hear my opinion of yours?” His smile has an edge to it she’s never seen, and again she is surprised, though by no means displeased. She had come in only for a drink and thought baiting the uptight Englishman might afford some amusement, but she hadn’t expected this flat-voiced, dead-eyed man. He’s much more interesting than the Wesley she’s used to, but her usual jibes are unlikely to work on him. Uncertainly, she recrosses long legs encased in expensive black stockings and catches his eyes following the movement. So. Not entirely dead, after all.

She hasn’t answered, and out of sheer perversity he keeps talking to her. “Are you waiting for small talk, Lilah? Is this the part where we pretend to be friendly? I must confess I expected a more creative gambit from one of your firm’s leading lights.”

She spreads her hands in a nothing-up-my-sleeves gesture and shrugs. “All out of gambits, I’m afraid. But what about you? No sneering insults, no death threats? Or perhaps a heartfelt round of ‘switch to our side and you may yet be saved’?” She blinks her eyes at him in a parody of innocence.

“Why would I possibly care whether or not you were saved?” Amused, he sips his scotch, but the bitterness returns even with the whisky mellow on his tongue. “No. You’ll have to visit Angel for that. Though forgiveness is not really his style.”

Lilah hears the bite in his tone, knows that this is where to twist the knife – and has an odd impulse to let it pass. She pushes it aside, and purrs, “Yes, of course. You and Angel had a falling out, I heard. Kicked you out of the club, have they?” His expression doesn’t change, but a muscle in his jaw jumps in a tic he can’t control. Her smile widens. “Well, if they have abandoned you, might I suggest that others might have more… lucrative… uses for your talents?”

Wesley laughs aloud, and a flash of relief, too fleeting to analyze, startles Lilah. Before she can call it back, he leans toward her and says, softly but distinctly, “Believe me when I tell you that you have *nothing* to offer me that I could possibly want.” His gaze sweeps up her legs, over her breasts, and settles in contempt on her eyes. “Good night.”

He stands to leave, but she places a hand over the one he’s rested on the table. Surprised, he pauses, and she uses the moment to recall the waiter. Not taking her eyes off his, she says, “More scotch. Bring the bottle.”

Suspiciously, he resumes his seat. “What is it you want? As you yourself pointed out, I’m no longer in Angel’s confidence, and I think we’ve established that I’m not interested in working for you. You might as well save your money.”

She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “It’s not my money. Have a drink on the firm, if you can stand it. People were probably killed for this money – sure you care to drink my scotch?”

He quirks an eyebrow ironically. “If I don’t drink it, will they come back to life? Sometimes, Lilah, scotch is just scotch.” He eyes her narrowly, and she looks away.

“And sometimes I just don’t feel like drinking alone.”

***

He drinks to keep from thinking. It has always been his curse. In school they called him ponce, pansy, because he never went wild, never broke rules. They never understood he wasn’t scared, just logical. The consequences, upon consideration, had never been worth the risks. It had been the same in the Council – established procedure had worked for hundreds of years; there seemed no reason to violate it on the instinct of a tiny blonde Slayer. But now his scotch-sodden brain points out that thinking never got him anything he really wanted. Fighting with Buffy against the Mayor, going to bed with Virginia, throwing in his lot with the vampire-with-a-soul: these irrational decisions have brought him more fulfillment and purpose than anything in his life. Thinking allowed him to anticipate so many ways for Fred to reject him that he never got up the courage to ask her. Thinking convinced him against all friendship that Angel would kill his son. Thinking has gotten him here, but he’s found that drinking can temporarily cure that. He pours himself a double.

She drinks to keep from feeling. People assume that it comes naturally to her, ice-bitch of Wolfram and Hart, and indeed, compassion and remorse have never been her strong suits. She enjoys the power and intrigue she wields as a sexy woman who thinks like a man, and allowing emotion to intrude mars that image. But anger, fear, longing – these she feels, oftener than she would like, and these are dangerous. Vodka, she’s found, works best: clear fire that seems to burn the fear right out of you. The excellent whisky she’s buying Wesley is too smooth for her taste, indefinably smoky and somehow male. She hates that. She wonders how it tastes to him… wonders suddenly how *he* tastes. She blinks, and motions him to refill her glass.

He pours her the last of it, then smiles thinly and taps his glass lightly against hers. They finish their drinks together, then he stands and walks carefully out of the bar without a backward glance. Alone then, she finds her purse and leaves as well. Though still steady on her three-inch heels, she knows better than to try to drive, and fumbles in her bag for her cell phone.

Still looking down as she exits the door, she walks directly into Wesley’s shoulder and stumbles. Because old habits die hard, he slips an arm around her waist to steady her.

Both of them freeze, startled to be so close. It’s impossible to tell who moves first, but in the next second she is molding herself against him and he is kissing her fiercely, taking without waiting for her to give. The force he’s using only arouses her more. She slides a hand down to the bulge forming in his jeans and is pleased when he hauls her closer yet, hard fingers biting into her curves.

The cab he called arrives at this point, and without asking he puts her inside, climbs in after her, snaps out his address, and brings his mouth back down on hers. His hand is up her skirt before the car pulls away from the curb.

***

They walk separately, silently, from the cab to his door. They’ve gone too far to stop now, and neither really wants to, but the brief walk is accomplished in a sort of limbo: both acutely aware they’re about to have sex, neither sure what to say in between. They are not friends, not truly lovers, and certainly not horny teenagers unable to keep their hands off each other; they are adults, half-drunk and bent on doing something they know is not a good idea. No words seem appropriate.

It’s a relief when they’re in his apartment, the door locked behind them. Avoiding each other’s eyes, they come together hard. Their mouths meet in a battle of tongues and teeth. Her hands come up to fist in his hair, while his clamp ruthlessly down on her narrow hips and drag her with him to the bedroom.

She kicks off her heels with force and strips his jacket roughly from his shoulders. He takes his hands from her to let it fall, then replaces them to work on the blazer of her smart little suit. He flips the buttons open with dexterity and fills his hands with her, stroking her in a motion too hard to be called a caress. She pulls his shirt over his head and in the moment he takes to untangle himself she unhooks and drops her skirt.

He is transfixed for a moment despite himself. Straining against his jeans he takes in the black satin brassiere, garter belt, and panties against pale skin. Challengingly, she returns his scrutiny, seeing a slender man with a defined chest, tighter-than-strictly-necessary jeans, and hard hands. And deep, icy eyes that flash violence, frustration, and pain. She shivers in excitement, wanting his hands back on her.

He pulls her back to him, satin whispering against his skin, and they kiss again. She rakes her fingernails deliberately down his back, breaking the skin. He responds by unfastening her garters one by one, punctuating each with a hard pinch to the thigh it rested on. She presses into him and scratches harder. He rips the garter belt and her stockings off and shoves her back onto the bed, shucking his jeans before joining her there. Now totally nude, he looms over her, mouth devouring hers as his weight pins her to the mattress.

Lilah wriggles purposefully under him, sliding her soaked underwear off. His jaw tightens as her hands find his cock and then stroke his balls expertly. As he fights to hold himself back, she takes advantage of the moment to reverse their positions so that he lies prone and she straddles his waist. She leans over him so that the curve of her ass is just brushing his throbbing dick and kisses him as her hands trace over his many scars. She bites his ear, then sits up and removes her bra. His hands come up her thighs, over her hips, and around her breasts, trailing his thumbs ever-so-lightly over her nipples – then he grabs her shoulders and forces her back down and under him.

Wesley positions himself over her so that the head of his penis teases her entrance but does not penetrate her. He bends his head to run his tongue up her flat stomach to her left nipple, teasing circles around it before suddenly biting down. Her eyes open wide and she comes, gushing over the two fingers he’s just inserted. She forces his mouth back to hers, biting into his bottom lip while simultaneously reopening the scratches on his back. He makes a sound low in his throat and rams full-length into her.

They pause for a moment, breathing hard and bleeding but nowhere near done. He’s bigger than she expected, filling her nicely with just a bit of discomfort. Automatically she arches up, clenching around him, seeking to set a rhythm that will bring them both off with a minimum of fuss.

He almost falls into it, starting to nuzzle at her neck, then breaks off and looks at her. She raises one eyebrow in challenge. With an untraceable movement, he pins her wrists to the headboard, holding them in place with one hand while he places the other between her legs, using his thumb to stimulate her clit as he drives into her. She comes again, but the scream she draws breath for is stifled against his mouth. His tongue fights hers as he continues to thrust, still working her with his thumb.

She climaxes for the third time, pinned in place, mouth covered, with Wesley still hard inside her. She can’t move, can hardly breathe, and she’s loving it, but it’s time to get some of her own back. She rips her arms away from him, grabs his plunging hips, arches up to bury him to the root, and tightens every Kegel-trained muscle she has.

He comes immediately, hard, and the spasm sends her over the edge one last time. Spent, he collapses atop her for a moment, panting. Lilah stills an impulse to run a hand through the sweat-soaked dark hair on her breast and instead levers him off of her. He lies there, staring at the ceiling. She lies next to him, taking a moment to appreciate the surprising skills the ex-Watcher picked up somewhere. Then she swings her legs over the side of the bed and starts looking for her underwear.

She is surprised to be hauled back against a hard body. Looking up into hooded eyes, she starts to struggle out of his arms. The dry, British voice in her ear stops her. “Surely you didn’t think I was done with you yet?”

She smiles at him. “Surely you didn’t think that you’re the one calling the shots here?” And because neither of them is willing to admit the other is in control, they dive at each other in the same second. The result lands them on the floor, rolling over and over, mouths glued together. 

They fetch up against a wall with Wesley on top. He’s once again fully erect and wastes no time sliding back inside her. She exerts all her considerable skill in kissing to concentrate him entirely on her mouth for a second, then flips them over so quickly that his head bangs against the floor. He frowns at the accidental pain, and she murmurs, “Sorry,” without thinking. Smiling ironically he starts to move them again, but she says, “Wait,” and he stills. She braces her hands on his shoulders, then starts to ride him slowly, sliding up so far that he almost comes out of her, sliding back down to wholly encompass him. She squeezes him at the bottom of each stroke, arching so he fills her in all the right places. Setting a slow rhythm, she curves her back so that her breasts are displayed to maximum effect, and for several aching sections he just watches her so sharply that she feels almost as if she’s never been nude before. Then he brings one of her hands to his mouth and suckles her fingers individually, exploring them minutely with the rough side of his tongue. She gives him an unexpectedly soft smile, her attention focused on what she’s doing.

Though he holds out as long as he can, it isn’t long before he comes; he thrusts up as much as he can with his hips, hoping to take her with him. He does, and she drops forward onto his chest for a second. Enjoying the feel of her breasts pressed against him, he stays motionless, arms clasped loosely around her. Lilah knows she should move – she doesn’t cuddle – but it’s been a long night, and she succumbs to the lassitude for just a minute…

***

Lilah wakes with a start, in an unfamiliar bed. She hears quiet breathing next to her, and the evening before rushes back. Scotch. Wesley. And… more Wesley. He’s still asleep, so she gets out of the bed quietly and begins searching for her underwear. He wakes as she zips up her skirt, and looks at her without comment before walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.

Alone for a second, she takes stock: ruined stockings and garter belt, assorted rug burns, and already-darkening rings of bruises where her garters used to be. Also twin, complementary feelings of satiation and soreness. Altogether, not bad. Letting her lips curve in a rare smile, she finds her second shoe and stuffs the remains of her stockings into her purse just as the bathroom door opens.

She files the smile away before turning to meet Wesley’s cool gaze. He says nothing, so after a moment she takes out a compact and applies lipstick. Putting it away, she glances over at the rumpled bed with its intermittent spotting of the blood they drew.

She looks at him. “Like fucking a virgin,” she comments.

“Hardly,” he says, turning away even before she leaves.

*The end*


End file.
